


The future is casting a shadow

by theseatheseatheopensea



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Alcohol, Gen, Immortality, Inspired by Music, Modern AU, Premonitions, Trick or Treat: Trick, apocalyptic setting, pinch hit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 11:36:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21035612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseatheseatheopensea/pseuds/theseatheseatheopensea
Summary: She sells secrets, but no one wants to buy.Cassandra always tells the truth.





	The future is casting a shadow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThebanSacredBand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThebanSacredBand/gifts).

> This story and its title were inspired by [Cassandra](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAVOKr--RSs), by ABBA.

Once, long ago, she fell asleep. Once, long ago, she heard the world whispering.

She heard the words.

Now, she sits at the pub down the street, and she hears the music. There's a sad song that goes _I'm sorry, I'm sorry._ She sits there and she drinks. But there are echoes in the bottom of the glass, and she doesn't want to hear them. There's a stone in her heart, and she doesn't want to live with this. So she orders one more.

She sits here, on her own. She breathes in the silence. She likes it here. She likes the sad music. Sometimes, she gets up. She dances with someone she picks out from the crowd. She leans in close, and she whispers in their ear. She says _my name is Cassandra_. And she says _please, tell me yours_. She's got blue eyes, filled with pain. And she always tells the truth.

_You're going to ace that test, on your second try._

_Disco music is going to be a flop._

_You have no talent._

_She's hiding something from you._

_You're going to lose your wallet tomorrow._

_Polka dots will go out of fashion._

_Something is coming._

_Something is wrong._

_You're going to regret doing that._

Yes, she always tells the truth. And sometimes it's funny. And sometimes it's definitely not. Sometimes it's harsh. Sometimes it's unpleasant. But no one believes her. She's that weird, paranoid punk girl from the pub, and no one ever believes her. No one cares.

She is almost invisible. Day after day, she sits on the park bench, with the pigeons. She walks the streets at night. She gets lost, and she follows the stars and the neon lights. At the pub, she throws back drink after drink. Sometimes she puts coins in the jukebox, looking for that sad song. And yes, sometimes she dances. Sometimes she yells, and sometimes she cries.

She is always surrounded by silence. She is always surrounded by words. And still, no one believes her. But she doesn't give up. She sits by the window. She sits close to them. She buys them a drink or two. She gets into their dreams and she sends them messages, but they fade with the morning light. This is her voice. These are her words. She sells secrets, but no one wants to buy.

Years go by, and she is still there. She is still there. _They are going to fight_, she says. _They are going to lose. The forests will burn. The sea will rise._

_Oh, you're really going to regret doing that._

But they just laugh. They sing and shout, and they dance with her, and they whisper back. But they don't really see her. _Maybe she is lost_, they say. _Misunderstood. Maybe she is lost from the start._ And they laugh. And they get up, and they leave.

They leave. They leave her, but she keeps on trying. She knows that something is coming. She knows it. She hides her messages in the birds' feathers, in the morning fog. In the street signs. In the late night news. In the static, in the radio waves. In the silences between songs.

These things she says. These things she doesn't say. Yes, maybe she is lost.

She hides, in the hours before the end. She never sleeps. She screams, without words. _They are going to run to the streets. They are going to fight back. Something is going to happen_, she wants to say. She is everywhere, everywhere with her messages, but no one takes her seriously. She wants to tell them. But no one listens.

But it happens. It all happens. The laughter becomes hollow. The future casts a shadow. The last day dawns, and the night turns into the darkest night. But no one knew, because no one listened. No one wanted to know.

_Yes, you're going to regret doing that._

_I told you. I told you._

And the final hour comes and goes. And she catches her breath. And she looks back. Now, she is here. She is here, hidden by the dust. She is here, among all these lost things. She is still alive, alive in a city that is dead. And here are the limits of her words. She is here, and she is done with the lot of them. She is _done_.

And she hears the music again, and she is inspired, and she speaks. And she fights. She burns the silence. And she laughs. She sits there in the empty pub, and she laughs, and she pours herself another drink. And now, there are worlds in the bottom of the glass. Now, the music whispers, the music screams, the music kisses her temples. And maybe she can live with this.

One more drink, and she will pack her bags. And she will walk in the rain. And she will leave.

And she will live. She will weave new dreams. She will find her voice again. But next time, she won't say anything. The stone in her heart will ache, but she won't say anything. She will spit the truth into their mouths. And she will leave them behind. She will lose that echo, the one that says _I'm sorry, I'm sorry_. But she won't lose herself. She will be here, in the heart of the city. She will be here, in the seconds between the seconds. She will be here, in the morning and in the night, in the music and in the silence. She will be everywhere. Her voice will rise. She will be the echo, and she will be the words.


End file.
